Invisible String | TVD x WIZARDING WORLD

THINGS I'D RATHER BE DOING THAN DYING IN A FOREST WITH A BLOND STRANGER

by Diana I. Salvatore

Detention at Hogwarts is not like normal detention.

No boring lines on a blackboard. No scrubbing trophies with your bare hands like some kind of medieval punishment. Nope. Here, they chuck you into a haunted forest where things actively want to kill you. For character development, apparently.

So, naturally, I end up here. Because I "accidentally" caused a chain of ink bottle explosions in the Charms corridor. A first-year cried. A professor slipped. A painting fell off the wall and called me a disgrace to civilization. I told it, quite respectfully, that its perspective was outdated. No regrets. Except now I'm about to be used as bait for a self murderer.

I'm waiting by the gate, arms folded, trying not to shiver. Not from fear, from the cold. Definitely the cold.

And then he arrives.

Draco bloody Malfoy.

Looking like a walking shampoo advertisement, with his perfect robes and perfectly unimpressed expression. Our eyes meet. He nods stiffly like this is a board meeting. I roll mine like I've got a tic.

He's my brother. Technically. We didn't grow up together. Never met before Hogwarts. Never even knew about him until he came running after me.

I wish I still didn't know.

Draco has this annoying habit of acting like we're meant to be besties now that I know I'm related to him. He keeps trying to talk to me in hallways. Offers me pumpkin pasties like that's some kind of olive branch. Once, he told me my hair looked "less tragic than usual." I think that was meant to be a compliment.

I've made my feelings clear. I want no part of the Malfoy legacy, no part of him, and especially no part of his weird attempts at sibling bonding.

Then Harry, Hermione, and Ron show up, thank Merlin. Harry's his usual calm-before-the-storm self, Ron looks like he's been volunteered for a death match, and Hermione is double-checking her shoelaces with the kind of focus most people save for heart surgery.

Hagrid appears, crossbow slung over one shoulder, his three-headed dog Fang drooling beside him.

"Alright, yeh lot," he says, like he's about to hand us cupcakes. "Tonight, we're lookin' for a hurt unicorn. Found silver blood in the forest. Poor creature's been attacked. Nothin' decent'd do that to a unicorn."

Unicorn.

That gets my attention. I pretend it doesn't, because dragons are my Thing—fierce, misunderstood, fire-breathing icons—but I've always had a soft spot for unicorns. Hell yes, in a glittery diary sort of way. They're... beautiful. Untouchable. The kind of magic that doesn't ask for permission.

"Split into pairs," Hagrid says. "Fang'll go with yeh. Diana, Draco—you two come with me."

I look at Harry in sheer betrayal. He mouths sorry with the expression of a man who's just handed his best mate to a Dementor.

Draco and I head off into the east part of the forest, with Fang leading the way. The forest is darker here, thicker. The trees lean in like they know what's coming.

He walks beside me in silence for a while, then says, "You don't always have to be mean, you know."

"I'm not mean," I say sweetly. "I'm allergic to nonsense."

He frowns. "You don't even know me."

"Exactly," I snap. "And I'm not exactly queueing up to fix that."